


Clarke is a cat person

by latenightreader



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, girls do it too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightreader/pseuds/latenightreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since I haven't seen a sequel to Neenichan's toe curling “I don’t need you (but that doesn't mean I don’t want you)” I decided to write my own.  </p><p>So, spoiler alert in case you didn't read Neenichan’s fine piece, Clarke is going to paddle her own canoe, shake the dew off the lily, tend her garden, fluff the kitty…etc, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarke is a cat person

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I don’t need you (but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561729) by [neenichan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neenichan/pseuds/neenichan). 



> If explicit self loving offends you, you should probably go read something else…or go spend some quality time with yourself to loosen up. Enjoy.

For once Clarke had no patients. She looked around, satisfied that the drop ship was organized and as clean as she could make it. She stepped out to the ramp and observed that the camp was relatively quiet as well. There was a light rain falling and a heavy fog seemed to dampen all sound. Bellamy had sent out groups to gather water, firewood, and to hunt this morning but now most people were napping or gathered in small groups inside their tents trying to keep dry. It was bound to be relatively uneventful for a while. 

She felt tired. She looked over to the tent she shared with Monroe and Octavia. Monroe was on guard during the day and lately Octavia had been sneaking off with someone and returning with that smug look a cat gives after it eats a bowl of cream. She kind of misses the cats they had on the Ark. There weren’t too many of them, but Clarke had had one as a child and she still missed the feel of its warm fur under her hands. In the world of the Ark, where everything was metal and plastic and hard, the feel of a cat had been unusually sensual. Down here, even though there were so many new things to touch and smell and see, she sometimes longed for the comfort of her pet. She wondered if any had survived on Earth. 

 

She entered the dim light of her tent and sat down on the hard earth for a nap. She took off her boots and set them by the tent opening then lay down, wrinkling her toes in her slightly crusty socks. She was continuing to think about cats when her mind drifted from the feel of fur to the feel of Finn’s hair beneath her fingers. She mulled that over for a while, her body warming up to the idea of his warm skin under her fingers too. She let her hand drift beneath her shirt and over the smooth skin of her stomach, remembering the feel of his large hand splayed there as they slept in the art supply bunker. A breathy sigh escaped her lips.

“Hum, I like that.” Raven’s voice drifted in from the tent next door. Clarke sat upright with a frown. Did she really just hear that? A high pitched giggle was met with a low chuckle that she recognized. A low chuckle that still had the power to bring dampness between her thighs. “I can’t listen to this,” She thought as her heart squeezed in a little on itself while at the same time she felt the bile of her anger and resentment rising.

Quietly, so as to not alert Raven and Finn that she had heard, she slid her boots back on. Now that the sweat on her feet had started cooling her toes just felt dirty and gross, adding to her annoyance at having her rest interrupted. She tiptoed out of the tent. “Finn!” A breathless sigh came from next door. Clarke snorted in derision and headed back to the refuge of the dropship. At least no one would dare get it on in there. She carefully made it up the ladder leading to the second level and laid down on a pile of parachute fabric. She tried to force her mind to think of peaceful things like the luminescent butterflies and the sounds of the birds in the trees. Lord knew she needed the sleep. But now she felt restless and keyed up. She tried taking her boots back off. Better. 

Five minutes later she was still awake. “Sleep Clarke.” She commanded herself, tossing onto her other side. She let her hand drift over her stomach again. Maybe she just needed to release some tension and then she’d feel better, sleep easier. Glancing at the hatch she double checked that it was shut tight. She was out of sight, behind a column, but just in case someone opened the hatch before she heard them, she shifted so her back was to the hatch. 

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. She let her hands drift down her body, nails running lightly over her breasts. Her worn bra was barely holding on by a string and she could feel the glide of her hands over her nipples through the smooth fabric. She shifted as a welcome warmth started low in her stomach. She took a few relaxing breaths and tried to conjure up a phantom lover like she used to do during the long hours in solitary back on the Ark. Dark haired, tall, gentle, Finn came to mind immediately. She remembered how he had looked at her. All his intensity focused on her and only her in the dark of the bunker. Her breathing quickened. He had touched her so gently, so tentatively at first. As if she was the most precious thing in the world. As she tried to recreate that moment in her mind’s eye the soggy grossness of her socks crept in. The harsh stab of light from the portals above kept pulling her back out of the fantasy. And all she could see was Finn’s pale skin against Raven’s darker skin. She liked Raven and it felt dirty to be thinking about someone else’s boyfriend. She sat up, frustrated. Her insides were still knotted up and relief was not in sight. Maybe she needed to try harder. 

She pulled her socks off and stretched her toes with a sigh. Glancing over her shoulder toward the hatch to make sure that she was alone once again, she slowly unzipped her pants and wriggled them down her hips. With only 1 or 2 outfits each, they had pretty much all seen each other in almost all states of undress at this point anyway. If anyone came up she could say she was just getting comfortable for a nap. She kicked off her pants and spread her legs wider. She could feel the dampness of her panties cooling in the fresh air. Closing her eyes once again she let her head fall back as she sought another face for her fantasy. Any face that wasn’t Finn’s. Maybe she should go for someone totally different in personality. A more alpha male perhaps. She thought of Wells. No, that was taboo. They may have been best friends and he was certainly hot but it felt wrong to think about someone dead. She let her fingers begin running over the fabric of her panties and it felt good. Small tingles were rushing through her and she knew that if she could get something going it would be good. She could feel an answering moisture begin to pool between her folds. 

Her mind drifted over the faces she knew. After being in solitary for almost a year it was pretty much only the faces of the 100 that she could think of. Murphy? no the guy scared her shitless. Miller? Too sweet. Monty? Jasper. No, No, No her mind cried. None of them were going to take her from buzzed to banged. Maybe she should just go faceless, just think about the feel of a faceless body and not attach any real person to it. 

In her mind, the fantasy man would have to have large and calloused hands. The owner of the hands wouldn't be tentative like Finn but an expert lover. As she used one hand to push up her shirt and pull down the cups of her bra she thought it would have to be someone who wouldn't hesitate to take what they wanted. She cupped a breast and gave it a gentle squeeze. Bellamy flashed before her eyes. Under the ministrations of her fingers she felt her muscles contract. Bellamy? No, No, No. That could not be! But it was too late now, the image was fixed in her head. Her fingers of one hand squeezed a nipple and she heard her own gasp. In her head she could almost hear his voice in an answering groan. He would be a demanding lover. She knew it. Deep down she could feel it. Shit, she thought as she realized she'd like that. That fantasy hand belonged to Bellamy. She slid her fingers under her panties and she was sooo wet. No, not him, she thought but she couldn’t stop from rubbing a fingertip into her slit. Her knees drew up tighter almost involuntarily and she knew she needed release badly. 

She was sinking into the parachute fabric and in her mind she imagined him rising over her. He’d rest with his forearms, dotted in coarse hair and freckles, on the sides of her head and he’d be giving her his intense stare as he sank into her. She slipped two fingers inside herself and she thought about how he’d fill her. The smooth skin of his rigid stomach would be cradled in her hips just where her own forearm fell across her hip bone. She slid her dripping fingers out and imagined him reaching between them to touch her clit. 

No, not Bellamy her mind cried but at the same time she envisioned staring into his eyes and seeing his reaction to the feel of her. As she slid her thumb over her clit and filled herself once more she gasped and imagined herself saying “more”. She knew what he’d do, she thought to herself helplessly. How did she know just what he’d do? She began sliding her fingers in and out and over her clit and her hips began pumping of their own will. Her other hand clutched at her breasts. Her breasts strained into her own hand and her nipples tightened into her palm but she found herself wishing that instead of her own delicate fingers it was a large warm hand enveloping her, testing their weight, holding her to soft lips. She knew what it felt like now to have a man suckle her and she wanted that again. The image of a man’s dark curls brushing her collar bone caused her to arch her back and press herself into her hand more fully. She wanted a man pressing her hips down and drawing her out at the same time but did it have to be Bellamy? She felt like she was on the edge of a precipice and any face other than Bellamy’s would take her away from the edge. Still, she tried to think of someone, anyone else. Maybe it could be... Very well, she thought feverishly, almost angrily impatient, because she had to finish this. She’d go with it, but she would never ever do it again. 

Giving in, she let her fantasy take over. She could imagine the feel of his weight over her, the brush of his breath in her hair. Finn hadn’t been a talker but somehow she was sure Bellamy would talk to her in a low confident voice. “That’s it.” He would croon. “You like that.” She felt her hips open wider and her movements quicken. A delicious aching heaviness was becoming more and more centered at her core. She knew she was close. The sound of his voice, low and a little rough would win her over. “Let go for me Princess.” He would own her. He would push her farther, harder. She felt the tingling in the pit of her begin to spread, to lift up and suddenly everything was connected. “Yes, Yes, Yes, Bellamy! Fuck Yes.” She felt a flush race over her skin as she erupted. She heard a keening sound and knew it was herself but she was too far gone to be embarrassed now. In her mind’s eye he was staring down at her in his own pleasure and she was…she was…lost. 

Her awareness came back slowly. Her ears were ringing and her hands felt sticky and damp. She was sprawled all over the parachute and she suspected there was a damp spot beneath her. Her heart was still pounding. “Oh, my god!” Her brain screamed. Holy crap. It had never been like that. Not by herself, not with Finn. She pulled the parachute over herself to cover her nakedness and squeezed her thighs together as the deep throbbing pulses continued to fade. Crap! She drifted off to sleep physically more relaxed than she had been in days despite the panic in her brain. This was so not going to happen again she told herself. Never ever again. 

 

 

Across the drop ship, sitting in a dark alcove against the wall a tall form uncurled and stood. His breath was a little shaky and he had to adjust himself. Holy shit Princess! His mind reeled. When she had first come up and settled in for a nap he had thought he’d leave as soon as she fell asleep. But once she took her boots off and he saw those bare pink toes he'd been captivated. And then when those toes had curled in obvious ecstasy and she had whispered his own name! All he could do was pant and watch, enthralled. Fucking toes! That was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Well, well, well. With a grin he tiptoed his way down the ladder. His Princess was certainly full of surprises.


End file.
